Your Love is Gold
by PartyInTheNorth
Summary: Myrcella Baratheon is on the run from her mother with Gendry Waters in tow. Robb Stark is at Riverrun, and hears news that the disgraced princess is nearby. He sets out to capture her, and gets more than he bargained for.
1. Chapter 1

She wasn't as beautiful as her mother, but somehow that was a good thing for Robb. For all his confidence and bravery, he had never been any good at talking to beautiful girls, even when they cooed and giggled over him and Jon looked sour by his side; and so it was a relief to find a girl he felt comfortable talking to.

She was a few years younger than him, slender and dainty, with the golden curls of Queen Cersei but the incredible arresting brightness of King Robert. Robb knew he would follow her anywhere from the first time she rode in on her horse.

He had heard that Myrcella Baratheon was in the Riverlands, but had hardly believed the rumours. He hadn't seen her since she was a child, visiting Winterfell with her father. A lot had changed since then, least of all the meaning of the words 'her father'.

Lord Edmure heard news that she had been spotted near the Trident, on horseback and alone but for one man, and Robb was quick to volunteer to go out and meet her, and bring her back to Riverrun for... well, they were calling it safe-keeping.

He set off early, with a couple of knights, to the forest where she had been spotted. The first flash of her gold hair was enough to alert him, and he saw her clamber onto her horse- straddling it, not riding side saddle, and gallop away after her guard, a dark-haired, deep-set man. Robb kicked his horse, setting himself to her speed before his men had even noticed what was happening. He cantered forwards until he was alongside her, and yelled at her to stop. She didn't answer, but kicked on her horse. They were alongside the river now, her guard a little way ahead, his behind, and suddenly Robb had a mad idea. He steeled himself and, seeing a deep patch to his left, leapt off his horse and into the Trident, grabbing Myrcella by the waist as he flew and- thank the Gods- dragging her into the water with him. They surfaced at the same time, coughing and spluttering, and Robb seized her hand in the water, his men catching hers on the riverbank behind them.

'Sorry, my lady,' he said, half-smiling at her grimace, 'You wouldn't stop.'

...

Back at Riverrun, she was given chambers and a bathtub, and a clean dress befitting of a maid, not a princess. It was Edmure's reminder that she wasn't a princess anymore. She was to be brought before him and Robb later, but first they had to deal with her guard. He was not treated so well, given a cell instead of a bath, but the moment Robb saw him dragged into the great hall, he wondered if that was a mistake. He was the spitting image of Renly Baratheon, but taller and stronger and younger- and alive. Robb saw his mother do a double take on the other side of the room, gasping quietly.

'What is your name, boy?' asked Edmure, who either did not note the resemblance or did not care.

'Gendry, milord, Gendry Waters,' the boy answered sheepishly.

'And why is a bastard escorting a princess?' Edmure asked, almost bitingly.

'She ain't a princess anymore, milord,' Gendry pointed out, 'She knew she was in trouble if she stayed in King's Landing and I offered to help her escape.'

'How did you know her?' Robb cut in, in a kinder, more interested tone than Edmure favoured.

'I'm her bastard brother, milord,' he explained, 'Lord Tywin was keeping me at the castle in case it came out I was... Heir to the throne.'

Edmure gasped, and Robb and Catelyn shared a look of unsurprised dismay that Edmure hadn't figured that out by himself.

'Milord-' said Gendry, taking advantage of the silence, 'Milord Stark, I- I travelled with your sister, Arya, I- I'm sorry I lost her, milord.'

'What?' asked Robb, confused, his mind suddenly throwing up images of little Arya- in particular, her on the back of a horse three times too big for her, with father's helmet falling over her eyes, her legs too short to start the horse so her mount eating from its trough.

'I- After your lord father... Was murdered, milord, Arya and I was going up to The Wall,' he told his story, about being captured at Harrenhal and then going on to the Brotherhood Without Banners, and finally Arya running away from him. He had no idea where she was now, and his despair at his fruitless search had led him to accidental capture by Lannister men, and thankfully Cersei's mad declarations that he should be executed were ignored by Lord Tywin. When Myrcella was punished for helping Mya Stone escape, she ended up in Gendry's cell, and through his strength and her ingenuity, they managed to flee the city.

It was Catelyn who went to speak to Myrcella, she and Robb having decided dragging the girl before Edmure and his bannerman was a bad idea, but Cat came back to her son five minutes later declaring, 'She will not speak to me!'

'What?' said Robb, standing from the table where he was sat, talking to Gendry, who he relished spending time with, just talking about Arya and his time with her. Robb had also found he liked Gendry: he was genuine and seemed a good man, and there was no one he would rather have been Arya's friend.

'The princess says she will not speak to anyone until 'Lord Stark' has apologised to her for throwing her into a river,' said his mother, her voice dripping with sarcasm.

Gendry stifled a laugh, and Robb, who was still a little baffled, let a smile out. 'I shall go and speak to the Lady Myrcella then.'

...

She was his prisoner, but he still knocked on the door to her room before he got the guard to let him in. Myrcella was stood by her narrow bed, wearing the thin brown dress of a young serving girl who had died the previous month, her hands clenched into fists by her sides and her chest held high. Only a Lannister would manage to still be proud when so fallen from grace, and held in captivity.

'My lady Myrcella,' Robb said, bowing to her.

'Robb Stark,' she said, staring him boldly in the face.

Robb couldn't help but smile, and he looked down as he licked his lips to wipe the smile away.

'You know what I want, Stark,' she said, glaring at him.

'I'm sorry, my lady,' Robb said, clearing his throat, 'I don't know what you mean.'

She sighed heavily. 'Apologise, Stark! You threw me in a river!'

Robb laughed, at first a little snort building to a hearty laugh that only intensified when she growled in the back of her throat, her expression brutal.

He wasn't laughing when she pounced on him, clawing at his face, and the guard had to come in to fight her off him.

**A/N: Title, if you're interested, is from Hear the Noise That Moves So Soft and Low by James Vincent McMorrow. His voice is heaven. Next chapter coming soon (and I actually mean soon because, honestly, I can't stop writing this fic). **


	2. Chapter 2

Seeing as Myrcella didn't seem keen on talking to Robb, he sent Gendry in. If anyone could calm her down, it was her good friend Gendry, and Robb met Gendry the moment he left Myrcella's chambers.

'What did she say?' he found himself asking, like a nagging puppy.

Gendry shook his head, 'You shouldn't have laughed at her, milord.'

Robb tried desperately to suppress his smile. Gendry raised an eyebrow. 'Really, milord, it doesn't do to hurt her pride. Myrcella has her mother's wrath.'

Robb sobered. 'What else did she say?'

Gendry looked at him again, and then looked away, 'She said she hates the food.' He turned and walked down the corridor, leaving Robb dumbstruck.

He tried again just a few minutes later. Myrcella didn't even bother to stand furiously this time. She lay on her side, facing the wall, her knees tucked up like a baby.

She glanced over her shoulder when he walked in. 'What do you want?'

'My lady Myrcella,' he said, stepping closer and not really sure where to look. He settled for the back of her head, where her messy blonde curls were splayed across the pillow. 'I came to apologise.'

'What for?' she said, on the surface lightly but truly he felt she was gauging his response.

'For firstly pushing you in a river, though you must admit it was fun,' he said, shuffling awkwardly on the floor, 'And then for laughing at you. That was cruel.'

Myrcella sniffed, and Robb could only hope it was a satisfied sniff.

'Lady Myrcella,' he said, and she still faced away from him, 'Gendry told me what you did... And I- I think you're very brave.'

She stilled, but still didn't turn around, so Robb simply left.

...

Catelyn spoke to her the next day, and the day after that Edmure, and they decided that she posed no threat, so could be allowed out of her room.

Robb was sat on the riverbank when he saw her, walking with Gendry. Myrcella was in a peach-coloured dress, too big for her because it was a hand-me-down from Roslin, who was both taller and plumper. Myrcella was far too thin from the weeks of imprisonment in King's Landing and the following weeks on the run. Her hips stuck out through the dress and her neck was haggard like an old woman's. When she caught him looking at it she tossed her hair over her shoulders and hid behind it.

Robb stood to greet her.

'Lady Myrcella,' he said, bowing.

'Lord Robb,' she replied. There was no curtsy, but it was certainly an improvement.

'How are you?' he asked, trying to adopt a kinder tone.

'Fine,' she said.

Gendry frowned and leant in to whisper in her ear. A small smile rose on her lips and then fell away into a scowl again.

'Milord, I have matters to attend to but the Lady Myrcella is not finished with her walk,' Gendry said formally, 'Would milord mind escorting her?'

Robb smiled. 'It would be my pleasure.'

Gendry walked away, and Robb offered his arm to Myrcella. She started walking without him, her long legs making her skirt billow in their wake. Robb jogged lightly to catch her up, and walked briskly alongside her.

'It's a lovely day, isn't it, my lady?' he said breezily, though the day was actually just overcast and mild, nothing special.

'Every day seems wonderful when one has spent so long in captivity,' she spat.

Robb sighed. 'Two days in a pleasant chamber is not that hard, my lady.' It was proving rather difficult to get her to talk to him.

'I... I was not referring to my time here,' she murmured, her walking pace slowing.

'Oh, lady Myrcella, I am sorry, I forgot-'

'It's fine, Robb,' she said, her voice wavering, 'I am a Baratheon, I am strong. Mine is the fury.'

He didn't think now was the time to mention that her real father was her uncle.

She stopped abruptly, and faced Robb, lifting a rough, slender hand to his cheek, surveying him in a way that reminded him oddly of Septa Mordane.

'I was so in love with you,' she muttered, 'When I was younger.'

'I-'

'Shut up,' she cut him off, 'I was just about to say that you look so much older now. There's a weariness in your eyes, and you really could do with a shave.'

Robb stilled, and lifted his hand to cover hers on his cheek.

'You're different too,' he said, 'You used to be sweet and blush a lot, and now…'

He trailed off, stepping away and letting her hand fall from his cheek, but he'd caught her attention now, and Myrcella was dashing after him, grabbing his arm.

'What? What am I like now?' she asked, aggressive.

'Oh, you know…' he murmured.

'No, I don't!' she pressed, gripping his sleeve so tightly he was forced to face her, 'Tell me!'

'I- you're different, that's all,' he said, and walked on.

'I hate you,' she muttered, but she clearly didn't, as she managed to make conversation with him for the rest of their walk.

…

Two days later, Lannister men tried to call at Riverrun, but Robb sent them away, saying they had seen neither hide nor hair of the princess.

Robb found Myrcella standing in an ante-room to the great hall where the Lannister men entered.

'My lady, you shouldn't be here, what if they had seen you?' he said, taking her arm and leading her away briskly.

'I wanted to see who she sent,' she said.

Robb absent-mindedly noticed that she was wearing trousers which looked suspiciously big on her. They were probably his, a few pairs of which he had given to Gendry.

'It must be hard,' Robb mumured, finding that he had subconsciously led her straight to his solar, 'You… Your mother, I mean.'

Myrcella sat down, giving Robb her profile as she stared out of the window, overlooking the gardens. 'I used to care that I was never good enough for her, but I don't any longer,' she explained pensively, 'I think she did love me, deep down. She just found it hard to show it. She's not as bad as you think.'

'But- is it true that your father is Ser Jaime?' Robb couldn't help but ask, but he regretted it the moment he saw the anger come into her eyes again.

'Just when I was thinking that we could be friends…' she muttered angrily, and stood up.

'No,' Robb grabbed her arm, 'Myrcella- I do not believe you are responsible for your parents' mistakes, and, honestly, knowing the truth will not change my opinion of you. That was a thoughtless question.'

Myrcella bit her lip.

'I… I've not spoken to anyone about it, not properly,' she muttered, 'My mother just shouted when I tried to and uncle- my father was too ashamed to even look me in the eye, and no one else would even consider me human after they found out.'

'Cella…' Robb murmured sympathetically, finding the nickname slipped more easily from his tongue than her full name, and was definitely softer than 'my lady'.

'It… It's hard to know that I am an abomination. Through no fault of my own, I seem to be everything people detest, and they want me dead for it,' she said, 'But- I know it's shallow- but the hardest thing is… Is that no one will ever want to marry me. Not that I even want to marry, just… I'm destined to be alone.'

Robb took her hand and locked his fingers through hers.

'I won't let that happen,' he said sincerely, meeting her eyes, 'You shall not be judged on your parents' crimes. I will take the head of anyone who does judge you, Princess.'

Myrcella smiled genuinely, and Robb could swear he saw her eyes glisten with tears, but then she laughed, 'Nonetheless, I really would like some trousers that fit me. These old ones of yours will be no good for riding.'

Robb raised an eyebrow, glancing at the trousers, which did indeed drag under her feet, and which appeared to be tied with a rope to make them stay up; and said, 'Riding? I didn't realise you had a horse, Cella.'

'I don't,' she said, rising and heading for the door, 'But you're lending me one tomorrow, when we go riding together.'

She stopped with her fingers wrapped around the doorframe and looked back at him, 'And who gave you permission to call me Cella?'

**A/N: I felt like she was losing her sass halfway through, but she dragged it back at the end haha. More coming soon, as I am loving writing this. Thanks for all the support guys, it's so nice to see that other people ship this as much as I do!**


	3. Chapter 3

At breakfast the next day, Myrcella sat down beside him. Cat and Edmure weren't up yet, and neither was Gendry, so they were alone, but her choice to sit beside him was still a surprise.

'Good morning, my Lady,' he said, standing even though he had the higher status.

'Morning,' she said, flinging herself down on the bench beside him with such force that she bumped into his side. She scraped some porridge into a bowl and started eating.

'There are lemoncakes, if you'd prefer,' he pointed out, surprised that she could stomach the grey sludge.

'Oh no, Robb,' she laughed, 'I need all the strength I can get if we're going out riding today.'

Robb smiled. 'A good point.'

'And oh-' she said, tossing her blonde curls back over her shoulder, 'I need some trousers.'

Robb sighed. 'I don't know where we'll find any to fit you,' he said, apologetically. He was trying not to patronise her.

She sighed. 'I'll just have to wear some of yours again then.'

…

She met him in the stables an hour later, wearing his shirt and trousers, rolled up and tucked into her leather boots. Her hair was still loose, falling in shimmering waves over her collarbones in the bright morning sunlight, and she turned to Robb with a sly smile when he arrived.

'This one's yours?' she said, indicating the Chestnut mare in the stall beside her.

'Yes,' he said, 'And you knew that from my groom.'

The boy blushed. Robb knew it probably hadn't been hard for her to pry any information from the sweet groom.

'Actually,' she teased with a sly grin, 'It just smelt like you.'

Robb couldn't help a laugh.

'You can have her,' he said, 'I'm riding Grey Wind.'

'Grey Wind?' she echoed, looking down the stables, 'Which one's that?'

'Oh, you'll see,' he said, 'When we get outside.'

She mounted his mare, and Robb walked alongside her until they were outside of Riverrun's walls. He whistled, long and loud, and Grey Wind ran to his side. The lean wolf didn't spook his horse, but Myrcella nearly bolted.

'Damn it, Stark,' she shouted once she had caught her breath, 'Don't spring your dog on me!'

Robb laughed. 'He won't hurt you, Cella,' he said, 'He's sweet to those close to me.'

They rode for an hour or so, Myrcella casting back frequent confused looks at Robb on his wolf's back, and then decided to stop by a stream. It was a rather warm day, so they halted in the shade and sat by the water's edge.

'This is so beautiful,' said Myrcella happily, stretching her legs out.

Robb sat down beside her and got some food from his pack. He offered her a snack, but she refused. Instead, she tucked her legs up beside her and lay down with her head in his lap. Robb sat, bemused, for a moment before placing a hand on her shoulderblade.

'Myrcella...' he said, 'What are you doing?'

She rolled onto her back and looked up at him. 'I'm so tired, Robb.'

He knew she meant more than simple bodily exhaustion, but he asked anyway, 'Did you not sleep well last night?'

She closed her eyes. 'I slept very well,' she murmured, like she wasn't going to say anything more, and Robb took a leap and placed his hand on top of hers, on her belly.

Her eyes opened, meeting his, as green as the grass beneath her head. Robb spoke first. 'It's more than that, isn't it?' he whispered.

She half-smiled at him. 'Yes,' she replied, a little choked, 'It's the fatigue of knowing that near everyone in the world detests the sight of you; and being on the run; and never knowing if you are destined to die in the morning.'

'I don't detest you,' he said, combing her hair across his lap almost sub-consciously, like he would if it were Sansa in his arms.

'I said _near _everyone,' she pointed out with a smile, shutting her eyes and sighing at the relaxing touch of his fingers on her hair.

They sat like that for a while, Robb leaning against Grey Wind when he beckoned the wolf over and Myrcella lying happily on his lap. After about half an hour, she heaved herself up.

She sat, looking at Robb for a long moment. 'Come on, milord,' she said, smiling coyly, 'I'll race you back to the castle.'

Robb grinned, and sat watching her as she got up and leapt onto his horse. Before he knew it, she was off at a canter, her golden hair streaming in the wind, holding herself over the horse's neck with the ferocity of a knight headed to battle. He quickly gathered up the remaining food and clambered onto Grey Wind's back, setting off as fast as the broad-haunched wolf could go. He caught up with her just before they reached the Trident, and slowed at her side.

'That was just not fair, Cella,' he reprimanded, beaming.

'Life's not fair,' she replied, licking her lips in a way that she didn't –surely she couldn't- know sent shocks to his breeches.

Back at the castle, his mother ran out to him in the courtyard.

'Robb! Good gods, what were you doing all day?' she said, flapping her arms about as her son helped offered Myrcella a hand down off her horse, and was refused.

'We were out riding, mother,' he explained, Myrcella coming to stand beside him.

'And Myrcella Baratheon!' exclaimed Catelyn, 'My dear, you couldn't know, but- gods, are you wearing trousers _again?_ My lady, that is just not ladylike- you are not on the run any longer!'

'Mother,' cut in Robb, 'Myrcella was riding, it is very difficult, I am sure, to ride in a dress-'

'Well, you must get dressed properly now, Myrcella, Robb's betrothed is coming,' said Lady Catelyn, and she marched back to the castle, leaving Robb and Myrcella standing side by side, not looking at each other.

'You never told me you were betrothed,' she said, in a steady voice.

'It's not through choice,' he answered, but when he looked at her she was staring at him solemnly.

'That doesn't change anything,' she muttered, and walked away.

**A/N: I got stuck on their ride for days because I really had no idea where to go with it, but then an idea struck me so I know what's happening now (which is always for the best)! I'm sorry Catelyn is such a weak character here but a) I can't write her for the life of me and b) she's stressed in this bit, so that's my excuse. Yeah. Until next time.**


	4. Chapter 4

'Good evening, my lady,' said Serra Frey. She was a few years older than Myrcella, but six inches shorter, and the sneer on her face was very unbecoming.

'Good evening,' replied Myrcella coldly, and then Robb appeared by his betrothed's side. He smiled at Myrcella.

'You look divine,' he said, and she smiled a little, ignoring Serra Frey, but the girl grinned.

'Thank you, dearest,' she gushed, her face too wide for her features. She was fairly pretty, in a country maid way, but her skin was pock-marked from adolescent acne. She was wearing a pale pink gown, cut flatteringly at the collar but frumpily at the waist. Her main redeeming feature was her hair, which was braided with care and expertise, in a lovely Southron style that reminded Myrcella of her mother, though her hair was mousy brown, not sunlight gold. Myrcella blushed for her, taking the compliment her betrothed had directed at another woman right before him. A part of her hated Robb for humiliating Serra like that, despised his selfishness…

But more of her, the core of her, was smug, delighted that Robb noticed how she looked. And she had made an effort: she was wearing a crimson dress (not intentionally Lannister colours) with a cut-out section on her lumber and a slender skirt, far too much like something her mother would wear but too elegant and silky for her to resist; and her golden curls were loose but for a single plait across the top of her forehead. She was too thin, and flat-chested like a boy, but under Robb's gaze she felt beautiful.

Robb's eyes met Myrcella's, ocean blue and heavy with unsaid things. They rested there a moment, before releasing her gaze. He offered a hand to Serra.

'Would you care to dance, my lady?' he asked her, and the girl nodded eagerly. Myrcella swallowed deeply as he led her away, Serra casting one gleeful glance across to her twin sister before she faced Robb and moved clumsily in his graceful arms.

Cella went back to her table and sat down. She watched Robb and Serra dance for a while, enjoying the simultaneous swaying of their legs, but wishing it was her silk dress swishing the floor instead of Serra's cotton.

He looked up, near where she had been standing before, and she almost felt pleased that he was disappointed.

He shouldn't have lied to her. Myrcella had hated him when she first met him, partly because her mother despised Starks, and partly because he had captured her. She didn't want to be held captive, especially not by a Stark- she wanted to be free to travel back to Casterly Rock, where she knew she would be safe.

Furthermore, she hated herself for ever having been in love with Robb Stark when she was younger. He wasn't that handsome, not like her uncl- father, and his arrogance and cruel sense of humour turned her away from him before she had even had a chance to speak to him.

But, oh, he was handsome. When he smiled at her, it was like she was even more beautiful than her mother, like the sun shone behind her head and he had to squint to glance upon her face, but it was such sweet agony that he didn't mind. His auburn hair was tipped lighter on the top from hours spent outdoors and he was extremely well-muscled, as she well knew from the memory of his lean body crashing into hers, pushing her sideways off her horse and crushing the air out of her lungs.

But the most annoying thing was that it was impossible to dislike him. Robb was kind and- except for that joke IN THE ROOM WHAT I'VE FORGOTTEN- funny and brave. He was everything she had dreamt he would be as a girl, when he had kissed her hand and she had danced on clouds for the next year. But what was better, he wasn't what she had thought he would be when she was a girl. When she was younger, she had expected him to be some knight in shining armour, a gallant, heroic prince who could do no wrong and although he spent his days wooing women, he was entirely faithful to his rosy-cheeked lady wife. Robb was flawed, and Myrcella thought she might love him all the more for it. He said things without thinking and was bashful about apologising, but his sincerity extended to every word he said, and his eyes always told his emotions, clear as day.

'Myrcella,' said Catelyn Stark as she sat down beside the girl. Cella pulled herself from her thoughts and trained her eyes on the mother instead of the son.

'Good evening, my lady,' she said politely.

'He didn't tell you he was promised to her, did he?' she asked, cutting straight to the chase.

'No, my lady,' answered Myrcella, quite taken aback.

'Robb is…' Catelyn started, trailing off thoughtfully, 'Impulsive. He follows his heart, oftentimes ignoring his head. I just worry that he will hurt someone.'

'As does every mother,' said Myrcella weakly, because she didn't really know what she was being accused of but she didn't like it.

'No,' said Catelyn, placing her hand on Cella's arm, 'What I want to say is… He can't give up what his heart desires, even when he knows in his head that it is wrong.'

Myrcella stopped, alarmed. Surely… Had Robb been talking to his mother about her? Was he… (she hardly dared to think it) in love with her?

'He hasn't mentioned anything to me, of course,' said Catelyn, smiling kindly, 'But a mother knows.'

'What?' squeaked Cella, though she knew.

Cat smiled wider, 'I would truly have loved to have you in my family, my dear, but a vow is a vow,' she bit her lip, 'And Robb is a Stark. Starks do not break their vows.'

Cella's eyes shut a moment. 'I understand, my lady.'

She stood to leave, having had quite enough of the Starks for one day.

'However-' cut in Catelyn, grabbing Cella's hand before she could walk away- 'I wish for you to… to be my ward.'

'Y… your ward?' stammered Myrcella, her jaw dropping.

'You are a wonderful, brave, beautiful girl, and…' Cat smiled, 'I do not think you should be shunned for your parents' crimes. So I am asking you to be my ward, so that I may protect you and teach you to be the fairest noblewoman in the seven kingdoms.'

'My lady…' Cella said, not sure how to respond. The offer was wonderful. She had been ostracised for months, with no family and only one friend, and before that her mother had never been nice to her. Cella had been a disappointment to her mother, she knew, and she had caught herself thinking a few times before that Catelyn Stark would make a much better mother than Cersei. 'Thank you.'

'Of course,' Cat murmured as the pair sat back down, 'Perhaps separation would be easier… for you both.'

**A/N: I have no idea what happened at the end. I just had a lot of feelings. You may also note that this is the first Myrcella POV chapter. Lucky you. And on a side note, I have no idea what I'm doing with their ages. Robb should be 7 years older than Cella, so in my head she's about 17 and he's 24. But he doesn't seem that much older. And I have no idea where this au is supposed to sit but hahahaha. We'll just pretend the war went on longer than expected.**


	5. Chapter 5

It was early in the morning, two days later, when the Freys left. Myrcella had been studiously avoiding them all their stay, and by extension she had not seen Robb at all either, apart from the occasional glance across a room.

They were leaving on that frosty morning with much fanfare, and Myrcella didn't really want to be around for that, so she went for a wander around the dusky halls of Riverrun. She found herself in a quiet, dark room where the rare sunlight filtered in in glazed slants from the windows, with a bookshelf on one wall and a selection of chairs. She selected a book from the shelf on the history of the Stormlands and sat down in a chair draped in a bearskin, deciding to settle down until the afternoon.

The book was dry, though, and after not very long she fell asleep.  
…

Robb had only ventured up to the study to collect some papers for his uncle Edmure, and it was quite a surprise to him to find Myrcella curled up in a chair, her head flopped against the tall back of the chair and a book open in her lap. It was cold in the room, so he gently snuck the book out of her hands and took the fur from another chair to tuck her in.

Once he had arranged her blanket, he paused. He reached over and smoothed her hair tenderly, twisting his fingers in a ringlet before stepping back. She was so pretty in her sleep, her lovely pink lips pursed slightly and her eyebrows pulled slightly together like a child deep in thought. The innocence of her peaceful face did make Robb stop though, remembering how young she was. She was seven years his junior, he worked out, remembering that she was the same age as Bran. He almost felt sick at himself for preying on such a young, impressionable girl, but then he remembered that Cella was anything but impressionable. She had a strong mind and a strong heart and she knew what she wanted. He just had to face the fact that, after he had lied to her about Serra, she probably wouldn't want him.

He went to the desk and shuffled papers, looking for the one he wanted, but he accidentally knocked a book on the floor with a loud thud. Cella jolted to life.

'My lord! I'm sorry, is this room private?' she panicked, untangling herself from the furs.

'No, no,' he replied, putting out a steady hand as if he were taming a spooked horse. She stood before him, her figure a good foot shorter than his.

'You have free roam of the castle as my mother's word, my dear Cella.'  
She blushed. 'I think you must call me sister,' she laughed nervously.

'No-' Robb blurted out, then cleared his throat when she looked at him oddly. 'I mean, I have sisters already.'

'Oh, I didn't mean to upset you…' she apologised, biting her lip in an adorable way.

'No, no,' Robb said, trying to figure out a decent way of saying, _I never want to kiss my sisters._He settled for, 'I want us… to be friends.'

Cella smiled. 'Me too.'

Robb glanced towards the door. Edmure wouldn't miss him.

'Do you want to stay a while?' he said, 'I'd like to talk to you.'

Cella looked down, the corner of her mouth tugging up slightly.

'That would be nice,' she said, and sat back down. Robb stood awkwardly before her.

'I'm sorry I didn't tell you I was betrothed.' The words rushed out of him like a sneeze.

Cella stilled, looking down at her lap, a few golden curls falling over her cheek.

'Trust me,' he continued, 'I have no desire to marry Serra, but I know I was wrong to keep it from you.'

'No, no,' she muttered, standing up and marching over to the far wall 'There was no reason to tell me, your little captive princess. What is the marriage of my King in the North to a shamed bastard of his enemy?'

'I…' Robb sighed. 'You know you mean much more to me than that, Cella.'

'Why aren't you married already, your grace?' she spat, facing him in profile, 'You're old, aren't you?'

Robb's heart panged at her words, because, yes, he knew he was too old for her, a leering old man, nothing like the young, handsome knights in Sansa's songs.

'I want my sister Sansa to be at my wedding,' he said weakly, 'I promised her she could help to choose the flowers.'

'Sansa is the kindest girl I know,' Cella said softly, her anger dissipated, 'She was always kind to me, even after everyone found out about my parents.'

'You… You saw her recently?' he asked timidly.

'A week or so before I escaped, she was brought to my cell,' she explained, 'She had sewn me some handkerchiefs and knitted some stockings. It amazed me how she could be so kind-hearted after so much suffering.'

Robb wasn't aware of the tears in his eyes until he choked back a sob. Cella came to his side, and the light hand on his shoulder set his tears off, gushing faster than the Trident outside. Gently, so gently, she twisted him into her arms, lowering his sweet auburn head onto her shoulder so he could cry. And for a little while he did, just occasionally whispering, 'I miss her, I miss home,' between sobs.

He pulled himself together after a couple of minutes, and pulled away from her, embarrassed.

'I'm sorry, Cella,' he said, but she sat down in the big chair again, and beckoned to him, so he joined her, squashing into the seat and pulling her frame half into his lap.

'There is no youth any longer,' she said, 'We have suffered so much that we have grown old too soon.'

She settled her face in his neck and breathed deeply.

'But why am I here?' she mumbled, 'My mother would scream.'

Robb knew she meant why was she sitting there, in his lap, alone in a room with a strange man, one of his hands clutching her spine; but he couldn't bring himself to move. Holding her, being close to her, breathing in her rosewater-hair, he couldn't imagine anywhere he would rather be. Simply touching her made his body hum.

She looked up at him suddenly, and his heart stopped. She was going to leave now. She had seen the error of her behaviour and would get away from him and never speak of it again.

Instead, she lifted a hand to his cheek, tangling the ends of her calloused fingers in his hair.

'I want to save your sister,' she declared quietly.

'What?' Robb gasped, completely caught off guard.

'I know my way around the Red Keep better than anyone, and Sansa is not safe there,' she explained, 'So I intend to sneak in- dressed as a servant, perhaps- and rescue Sansa.'

'Cella-' he started, but she cut him off.

'Don't tell me I can't, Robb,' she said, 'I want to save Sansa as much as you do, because I know what it feels like to be a fly trapped in honey.'

'I'm coming with you,' he said, because although he knew Cella was strong, she shouldn't go alone nonetheless.

She smiled slightly. 'No wives or pets, I'm afraid.'

She was joking, but there was bitterness underneath her words and Robb longed to soothe it, to hold her and kiss her and tell her that there truly was no other he loved as much as her.

Instead, he held her closer, and whispered, 'We have some plans to lay.'

**A/N: This started as a cute little cute-fest, but it lost its oomph a bit in my opinion. Oh well, hope you enjoy, and I'm sorry it took so long!**


	6. Chapter 6

The street was very shady and Robb longed to wrap his arm around Cella to protect her, but he knew she'd only chastise him. A tender couple would draw much more attention than a serving girl and a ragged labourer in Flea Bottom.

Myrcella's hair was under a linen headscarf and she was wearing a plain beige dress with battered leather boots, and yet she still looked beautiful, he thought, following her at a few paces.

Robb had to shake himself off to concentrate, his hand dropping to the hilt of his sword. Suddenly Cella slipped down a narrow alleyway, and Robb had to push through a pair of washerwomen to follow her. He caught up to her and she levelled beside him as they reached a large drain grate in the wall. She stopped and they both stood, staring at it.

'This is the one,' she said firmly, sharing a glance with Robb.

'Run through one more time,' he said, and she nodded.

'We go through the secret passages into the castle, where we will come out in the Tower of the Hand. Sansa's rooms are two storeys above that, and we go up there to get her. If she's not there, well…' Cella looked nervous, and Robb took her hand and squeezed.

'She will be,' he said, a lot more confidently than he felt.

'We take down her guards and escape back out this passage. If we lose each other, we meet at the tavern from last night,' she said. The previous night they had slept in a tavern near the city gates- Robb on the floor, of course- and both of them had memorised the way back there from any angle of the Red Keep.

'Are you ready?' he said, and when she said yes he dropped her hand, lifting the grate to let her through and then replacing it behind him. They crept in silence through the tunnel, Cella glancing back at him occasionally as if to make sure he was still following her. They reached the castle, and Cella peered up through the grate for a few seconds before pushing it off and hauling herself gracefully out. It was probably six and a half feet up to the floor, so she offered Robb a hand up but he was determined to make his own way up, to appear strong. He was nearly up when his shoulder twinged, and he dropped back down, letting his knees take the impact.

'Are you all right?' Cella hissed down at him, looking around frantically as though someone would come into this abandoned cellar at any moment.

'I'll take that hand up now,' he called to her, laughing lightly. Cella leant down and helped heave him up, staying close to him once he was up.

'Stay quiet and keep your head down,' she said, and set off towards the wooden door that had evening sunlight gliding through its wonky slats. Robb caught her arm before she could fully turn away.

'Cella,' he choked out, and her eyes met his. They were shining with bravery and wisdom, but he detected a hint of fear. He wanted to tell her how much he admired her, how brilliant and beautiful she was- he wanted to hold her for all eternity. But she wouldn't like that. She hadn't so much as hooked her elbow through his since the day she had sat on his lap, and she kept bringing up his betrothed. He looked at her for a long moment. 'Good luck.'

She half-smiled and he released her arm, and then they set off. They didn't run into anyone on the stairs, thankfully, and reached the room Cella had predicted easily. They stood around the corner from it, and she glanced around.

'There are no guards,' she said, confused, 'There were always guards…' She sneaked around the corner, Robb close behind, his hand on the hilt of his sword. She laid her hand on the doorhandle, and pushed. The room was empty. They both stepped in, and pulled the door shut behind them.

'I'm sorry, Robb,' she muttered, looking down.

'No, Cella, it's not over yet,' he said, putting his hand on her upper arm, 'We'll find her. She has to be here somewhere.'

Myrcella nodded, but stiffened rapidly. Her eyes flickered up to Robb's, full of terror. 'I can't-' she stammered, and it was then that Robb heard what had spooked her so: footsteps in the corridor outside. 'I can't stay here,' she sobbed, and Robb pulled her in to his chest, grasping her tightly in his arms.

He shushed her quietly, and murmured, 'I'll protect you,' to the top of her head. He understood now. She had been imprisoned in this castle, had suffered pain and torture under this roof and finally managed to escape. He couldn't let her be caught again in the name of saving his sister. She hadn't had to come back here, and in fact when Robb had told their plans to his mother she had forbidden Cella's participation, so they had been forced to run away in the night. The footsteps passed, and she calmed herself. When she looked up, her face was composed again, and there was a hard determination in her eyes.

'Come along Robb Stark,' she said, 'I'm going to introduce you to my mother.'

…

Cersei was exhausted. She had been ever since the truth about her and Jaime had come out. Joffrey and his big head were more trouble than they were worth- how any child of hers could be so stupid and irrational she would never understand- and Tommen was under the custody of her father, back at Casterly Rock. And as for Myrcella- well, it was incomprehensible how a girl who was pure Lannister could behave so much like a Baratheon. Her stubbornness and absurd sense of right and wrong… It hadn't come from Cersei, that was for certain.

She climbed the last of the stairs and pushed open the door to her chambers, posting Ser Ilyn on the outside as she loosened the ties of her corset to breathe.

She sighed, and someone cleared their throat behind her. 'Hello, mother,' said Myrcella, reclining a little in the wooden armchair by the window, 'I trust you are well?'

Cersei gasped harshly, throwing a hand out to the nearest chair for balance. 'You,' she hissed, and Robb stepped closer to Cella, placing his palms on the back of her seat, 'And the Young Wolf?'

'We're here for Sansa,' Myrcella said in a bold voice, 'Hand her over to us and no one need be hurt.'

Cersei bit her lip, steely-eyed, 'Ser Ilyn is right outside the door, dear, or have you forgotten what he can do?' Cella froze up, and Robb saw red.

He whipped out his sword and charged at Cersei, holding the tip of his sword to the Queen's throat. 'This is your daughter we're talking about. She's easily as ruthless as you, and I won't be responsible for my actions towards you. I suggest you hand over my sister before I hurt you.'

'Robb,' soothed Myrcella, pulling him away and standing opposite her mother. She turned her bright, ferocious eyes onto Cersei. 'I used to think you were wonderful. You were beautiful and clever, and you held the whole court in the palm of your hand and no matter how much you criticised me or bullied me, I still loved you.'

'As I loved you, my sweet,' said Cersei in a soft voice, but Cella scoffed.

'You never loved me. You only ever loved Uncle Jaime and Joffrey,' Cella said, her voice as cold as Cersei's, 'You never even noticed me… But trust me, I noticed you. I know all your weaknesses, I know all your mistakes, I know how to break you.'

'I cannot be broken,' Cersei spat, but Robb was sure he saw a hint of fear in the queen's eyes.

'You're broken already,' whispered Myrcella, 'You've been broken ever since they all found out about you and Jaime. He does not love you enough to take you back now that they know. You are lost, at sea with no lifeboat.'

Cersei bit her lip. She stood, and reached across to touch Myrcella's face, making Robb jump.

'I didn't think for a second you would become this woman, my dear,' Cersei said gently, her voice intelligent and falling on Robb's ears oddly like Myrcella's, emphasising the same syllables she would, undulating over the letters with the same care and wit that her daughter did. 'You weren't a pretty child, and you didn't say much. I thought you must have had some of Robert in you, against all odds, to be so dense and rugged-looking.'

'Robert Baratheon was a good man,' said Myrcella boldly.

'Yes,' said her mother, 'And you inherited the best of him, I see it now. You have his courage and his… majesty. People will follow you, Myrcella.'

Cella looked down at the ground for a long moment, and then stood up straight, pulling back her shoulders and showing off her regal composure. 'Give me Sansa.'

Cersei smiled sadly. 'Very well,' she said, and Cella tried to hide her surprise with little success, 'She's yours, you deserve to go home with a prize. She has your old room, darling.'

Cella searched her mother's face a moment.

'It's not a trap, go!' Cersei commanded, and stood and walked to the door. Robb didn't do anything as Cersei stuck her head out of the door and said, 'Ser Ilyn, please fetch Lord Baelish for me,' she said, and Myrcella didn't breathe until she heard the man's heavy footsteps dragging away down the corridor.

Cersei opened the door wide and the two of them stepped through, glancing side to side before heading down the corridor to their right.

Cersei grasped Robb's arm as he passed her, and he turned back.

'Don't hurt her, Stark,' she said under her breath, 'She deserves happiness.'

'I will never hurt her anywhere near as much as you did,' Robb said, and ran after Myrcella's sweeping blonde curls.

**A/N: Yeah, sorry it took me so long blah blah blah I promise Christmas fic and this will be updated soon because I actually know where I'm going with it yay! And I enjoyed writing Cersei ridiculous amounts ok I love her.**


	7. Chapter 7

**Robb and Myrcella's mission to rescue Sansa continues, and they draw closer than ever before. (Yes it's the one you've been waiting for. Sort of.)**

There was a guard on Sansa's door, but Robb knocked him out before recognition could even register in his eyes, and they pushed open the door.

Sansa was curled up on the bed, her knees pressed to her chest, hugging herself. She whimpered when they came in, and Robb ran over to her, kneeling on the bed to run his hand over her effervescent red hair and whispering, 'Sansa, sweetling, it's Robb, I'm here.'

Sansa rolled over and grabbed Robb's face in the palms of her hands, staring at him with crazed hysteria in her Tully blue eyes.

'It's me, Robb,' he murmured, and she let out a sob before flinging herself into his arms, pressing her head into her big brother's collarbone. He held her tightly, and Myrcella stood on, watching and wishing she had someone to love her that much. None of her relatives had ever protected her. She just wanted for a minute to let someone hold her and let them worry for her. She wanted to set aside her shell, give her worries to another.

'Robb, we need to go,' she said gently, remembering that there was an unconscious guard outside and more would probably be coming. Sansa lifted her head from her brother's shoulder and looked at Myrcella hard, gratitude in her red-rimmed eyes.

'Myrcella?' she murmured, and Cella nodded.

'Cella helped me- well, rescuing you was her plan,' Robb explained, and Sansa walked across the room on wobbly legs until she stood before Cella. She was taller and older than Myrcella, but she was deathly thin, her ribs jutting out through the pink cotton of her dress, and so when Sansa threw her arms around Cella, Cella couldn't help but cradle the bag of Stark and bones to her chest and stroke Sansa's back comfortingly. Sansa pulled away.

'Thank you,' she said sincerely, and Myrcella smiled before taking her sword from her belt and glancing back at Robb.

'Ready?' she asked him. He drew his sword and put his arm protectively around his sister.

'I'm following you, princess,' he said, and the kindness in his eyes told her that he wasn't teasing. He meant it.

She slipped out of the door and led them to freedom.

…

They found an inn off the Kingsroad. Myrcella wanted to camp out in the forest, away from travelling hedge knights and Lannister men, but Robb argued that Sansa was too weak. She needed hot food and a warm bed, and he feared (he whispered to Cella when his sister wasn't listening, because Sansa, though weak-bodied, was strong-spirited, and wouldn't want her brother to take such a risk on her behalf) that she wouldn't last the night in the cold outdoors.

They ordered their dinner brought up to their room, and rushed up the stairs before anyone could see them. Robb tipped the innkeeper extra, as a plea for his silence, and then he bolted the door. They ate heartily and settled Sansa into the bed because the day's travelling had exhausted her. Robb tucked her in, and kissed her on the forehead.

'I hope this isn't a dream,' she murmured, staring at him, 'I don't want to wake up in the Red Keep tomorrow.'

'I promise you won't,' Robb swore, and stroked her hair until she fell asleep.

He came and sat beside Myrcella, on the floor in front of the fire.

'We did it,' she whispered.

'I had no doubt in your ability, Cella,' he replied, leaning his shoulder against hers and taking a gulp of ale.

She closed her fingers around the glass and took it from him, not having a glass of her own, sipping lightly.

'You're wonderful, you know,' he whispered into her ear, and wrapped his arm around her shoulders.

'Robb, I think you've drunk too much,' Myrcella retorted, smiling, but he shook his head.

'I've had hardly a drop,' he said, and met her eyes in honesty, but she had to look away: he was too handsome, his cerulean eyes glimmering in the fire's amber glow and his hair looking positively alight. 'But really, honestly, Myrcella Baratheon-'

'Lannister,' she cut him off.

'-Baratheon. I've met the Lannisters and believe me, there's nothing of them in you. You are a stag, and a good one. Better than your father.'

Myrcella shook her head, trying to wriggle away from him, but he held her tight. His hand came up to her cheek. 'You are so beautiful,' he murmured, and Myrcella leant into his hand a little, 'But I think my favourite thing about you is your strength. You are-'

Cella didn't bother to let him finish. She pushed forwards and pressed her lips to his, relaxing into him when he responded eagerly. His lips moved tenderly against hers, warm and soft and tasting of honey, and his hands caressed her body and her hair. She let her hands trace the muscles of his chest delicately, trying not to imagine kissing them too. Their lips parted for breath and Robb moved to her neck, muttering her name in a lusty growl between kisses. She enjoyed it for a moment, basking in his adoration, just for a minute letting herself imagine being his wife, having him all to herself and feeling his lips and hands all over her, every night. It was a beautiful vision, but she knew it couldn't happen. She pushed him away.

'No, Robb, no,' she said, and he looked her in the eyes, 'You must marry the Frey girl. I will not let you betray her.'

'Cella-' he said, reaching for her again, but she stood up.

'I'm going to bed,' she told him, 'Please- please sleep on the floor.'

She crawled into the bed beside Sansa, and lay facing the fire. She peeked through her eyelids at Robb until his breathing stilled and his form settled down in the afterglow of the embers. He was so beautiful, and kind and strong. But she couldn't have him. He wasn't hers to hold, no matter how much she longed for it.

She didn't sleep for a long time.

**A/N: The one you've been waiting for! Sort of. I'm sorry it took so long sorry yeah. And I know how dead the Robbcella tag is at the moment, trust me IT'S. KILLING. ME. Get on it, shippers!**


	8. Chapter 8

Lady Catelyn was waiting for them in the courtyard of Riverrun with a storm brewing on her face. Robb rode in first, and she yelled so loudly at him that Myrcella swore the rumbling river stopped flowing.

'Robb Stark, I cannot believe that you would do this!' she bellowed, and Cella found it hard to believe that such a sound could come from such a graceful woman, 'Running away in the middle of the night, kidnapping the poor Princess Myrcella- do you not know what this has done to my nerves?'

'Mother, I-' he started, but then Cella dismounted, revealing the slender figure of Sansa behind her. She turned and put her hands on Sansa's waist to help her down, and Catelyn let out a noise halfway between a sob and a scream. She ran over to them and, as soon as Sansa's feet touched the ground, flung her arms so tightly around her daughter that Cella was pushed back by the sheer force of the wind she pushed aside. Her horse was led away, and Myrcella found herself stood shoulder to shoulder with Robb, looking on as the two Stark women remained tight together.

Robb's fingers brushed hers, and she turned to look at him. He smiled, and she couldn't help but smile back. Cat finally released her daughter, and turned to look at her son, keeping an arm around Sansa's waist as though to release her for a second would be to lose her again.

'Thank you,' Catelyn said softly, beaming through wet eyes at Robb and Myrcella, 'It was a reckless quest, but I cannot thank you enough for bringing my daughter home to me.'

…

Myrcella slept straight through the next two days, and awoke on the third feeling more invigorated than she ever had. She went for a brief walk, and read a little, and suddenly it was evening. Sansa was not well enough to dine in the great hall that evening, still weak from her imprisonment, so Catelyn invited only family up to her solar to eat. And, as her foster sister, that included Myrcella.

She left her room in a comfortable pair of Robb's trousers and a woollen dress which she had cut down to make a kind of warm, loose doublet, and as soon as she stepped out into the corridor, she crashed into Robb's side. They hadn't spoken alone since that night in the inn, and when she looked up at him, she found it hard to find words.

'Cella,' he said softly, wrapping his big palm around her forearm, 'Good evening.'

'Evening,' she replied, a flustered courtesy. She didn't have to think about courtesies.

'I trust you slept well?' he asked, grinning.

She nodded, 'And long, it seems.'

Robb was smiling at her and touching her, and it was hard to remember what words were.

He remembered, thankfully. 'Are you joining us for dinner?'

She nodded, and so he took her arm and led her up to Catelyn's solar. They entered together to find they were the last to arrive, and Cat, Sansa, Edmure and his sweet wife Roslin were sat around a table, drinking mead with a steaming meat pie in the middle of the table.

'At last!' exclaimed Edmure when he saw them, 'We can begin!'

He plunged a knife into the pie and started dishing up whilst Robb and Cella sat down in the last two seats, Cella beside Roslin and Robb opposite her, beside his mother.

'I trust you are feeling well again now, Myrcella?' asked Lady Catelyn, smiling at her ward.

Robb's foot nudged hers under the table. She blushed involuntarily.

'I'm very well, my lady,' she replied, 'I fear our journey tired me quite completely.'

'Me too,' piped up Sansa, her clever voice clearer than it had been but nowhere near as confident as Cella knew it had been, back before her father had died and everything had become awful.

'And how are you feeling, Lady Sansa?' asked Myrcella in her kindest voice, trying not to patronise her friend, who she kept having to remind herself was actually older than her.

'Happy,' Sansa answered simply, smiling with pure joy. Myrcella recognised the feeling, although it was not one she was too familiar with. Sansa was out of danger, back amongst her loved ones, where she didn't have to worry about outwitting everyone around her and being constantly on her guard. She could relax and laugh in the knowledge that she loved and was loved. Myrcella's family had never been home for her, not since she was very, very small- before her mother had become disappointed in her and her brother had bullied her. But, and the realisation came upon her like a warm fur being tucked over a sleeping child, as Sansa laughed with her and Cat complimented her and thanked her and Roslin (rather surprisingly) became interested in Cella's comfy trousers and makeshift sweater; and most importantly, Robb spoke to her in that lovely, smooth, deep voice of his and watched her when he thought she wasn't looking with eyes soft as honey- well, she thought she just might have found home somewhere else.

And after dinner, when Edmure and his wife left and Robb stood to go, Sansa grasped Cella and her brother's wrists and said, 'Please stay a while, brother and- my sister.'

The two exchanged a glance, Cella wondering if she could trust herself to stay in this room with Robb and not reach beyond the barrier of sister and Robb- well, he smiled at her welcomingly. Catelyn slipped away.

'It would be my pleasure,' Cella said, and sat down beside Sansa in the broad armchair by the fire. Robb sat by his sister's feet, but her knees were narrow and one of his shoulders rested against Cella's shin. She couldn't complain, the touch was brotherly, after all.

'I used to dream that I would be rescued, Sansa confessed, lolling her head against Cella's shoulder, 'Some days my rescuer was Robb, some days Loras Tyrell, some days… A broad, battleworn knight- no, not a knight, he was never a knight,' she shuffled, clearing her throat, 'One day I even dreamt Bran flew in on the back of a giant crow and carried me away. But I never, ever dreamt that it would be you, Princess Myrcella.'

Myrcella laughed, and let the arm that was squashed between them fall to Sansa's waist.

'I… I always knew you were kind, so much kinder than your brother,' Sansa explained, and she sounded tearful, 'But I never knew you could be so brave, braver than me, braver than Robb.'

'Oh really?' Robb said, turning to grin at his sister, 'Are you calling me a craven, Sansa?'

Sansa giggled, 'Of course not, Robb,' she ruffled his hair, 'But Cella escaped that place and then came back, just for me... I truly can think of nothing braver.'

'Sansa, you never need worry,' Robb said, turning and placing his hand on her cheek, 'Myrcella and I will always save you.'

Cella laughed, 'Of course,' she declared, standing up before the fire and tipping her head back proudly, 'None will ever harm Lady Stark, not when she has a Wolf and a Lioness to protect her.'

When she turned back to the Starks, Robb was looking at her with a strange expression on his face, but Sansa just laughed and jumped up to wrap her arms around Cella and drag her back to the seat. When Cella next glanced at Robb to try to read his expression, he just grinned and threw himself over the two of them, an arm around each girl's waist.

They spent an hour or so in Sansa's chambers, until she was tired and asked to go to bed. Cella helped her to undress and settled her in, briefly calling Robb in to wish his sister a good night, and then the pair of them left.

The moment Robb shut the door to Sansa's chambers, and they stood in the cool half-light of the corridor, Cella stopped the King in the North with a hand on his arm.

'Robb,' she said, sharply as she dared, 'You... you looked at me strangely when I stood by the fire... I... We can never be, please...'

'Oh, Cella, no,' he said, smiling sadly, 'I know I must leave you be. That look... you called yourself a lioness.'

She stared at him, confused. 'Yes?'

'You took pride in your Lannister heritage,' he pointed out, 'I... I'm just glad you have realised how wonderful you are, as I have known all along.

**A/N: Well, I enjoyed this one anyway. I hope it was worth the wait, Reallybadatphysics- and it's probably a good thing that you nagged me because it wasn't getting done by itself! I predict four, maybe five more chapters? This author's note is terrible I'm sorry.**

**Edit: Thank you to dhh for pointing out that half of this chapter was repeated, not sure why that happened but it should be sorted now!**


	9. Chapter 9

**It's a fine day for a picnic in Riverrun, so Robb uses the excuse to get Sansa out of the castle. It might even be warm enough for swimming!**

Robb woke up and looked out of the window, like he had when he was a boy, eager for snow to play in with Jon; but today he wanted sunshine and warmth. He got his wish, the day was bright and sunlight glittered on the river water outside whilst birds dipped under and returned with fish in their beaks.

He dressed quickly and ran to Myrcella's room, knocking vigorously on the door.

She called, 'Come in,' from inside, so he did. Cella was sat up in the bed, rubbing her eyes, her lovely golden curls bound in a loose braid, wearing nothing but a thin white nightgown that fell like water over the curves of her body. Sleep softened her expression, and her right cheek was flushed red, lines left on it from her pillow.

She blinked hazily at him for a moment, and then stiffened, her face burning red and he thought he glimpsed twin peaks through thin cotton before she heaved the blanket up to cover herself.

'Robb!' she exclaimed, blushing furiously, 'I was expecting my maid!'

'Clearly,' he replied, trying to suppress a smile.

'Robb!' she chastised, 'Don't laugh at me!'

'Oh, Cella, I'm sorry,' he said, 'But I am too full of joy today! Look at the weather!'

He waltzed over to her window and drew back the curtains, letting in the haze of morning sun.

'Oh, it's a lovely day!' she breathed, taking Robb by surprise when he realised she was standing at his elbow, a thick fur pulled around her shoulders. 'I had best get ready.'

'Yes,' Robb said, turning to look at her, the morning glow just fading off her cheeks, a little bit of sleep solidified on her eyelashes. She smiled.

'This will be a good day for Sansa,' she said, 'She needs it.'  
Robb kept on staring down at her, the few inches between them augmented by their closeness. It took all of his self-control not to kiss her, so he couldn't force out the words to thank her for caring for Sansa as much as she did.

Cella's fingers on his neck brought him back to his senses. Her touch was light and warm, tickling gently over his unshaven chin. The look in her eyes was halfway between confusion and hunger, and it made Robb's guts curl up. She parted her lips to speak, but the door opened and her maid came in.

'Oh, Your Grace!' the girl exclaimed, steadying her pile of laundry which had shaken at her shock.

'I'll see you later,' he told Cella, dragging her hand from his throat and kissing her fingers almost formally. He stalked out without another word.

…

They found a quiet riverbank; Robb, Gendry, Sansa and Myrcella, and settled for a picnic. The food was good and their wineskins were indeed full of wine, so they eventually all laid back in the sun with full bellies and sleepy faces.

'I wish I were a dove,' Sansa said, 'So I could float above us and fly south on the breeze.'

'I would be an eagle,' said Robb, laid on his side by Sansa, glancing over her at Myrcella's reclining form, 'They can fly faster than little doves.'

'Alas, but you are both wolves,' pointed out Cella, and Robb propped himself up on one elbow to look at her, her lean form swathed in a creamy linen dress.

'And trouts,' Sansa laughed, playing along.

'Well,' Cella said, with a naughty look in her eyes, 'Why don't we throw you in the river and see which it is?'

It took Sansa a moment to realise that it wasn't a threat, but then she burst out laughing, kicking Cella's shin.

They settled back and soon Gendry was snoring loudly, in harmony with Sansa's light breathing.

Robb felt his eyelids grow heavy, and soon he too dozed off.

He awoke to a splash, and sat up abruptly, his hand folding around his sword. A light circular mark rippled on the calm river surface, but otherwise no one was about. He looked over his companions, Sansa curled up in a little ball like a tiny child, Gendry flat on his back and snoring, and Myrcella… Not there. He looked back to the river, panic gripping his heart slightly, and this time he spied a mound of something light-coloured at the water's edge. He clambered to his feet and went to investigate, but as he got near, she surfaced.

Her golden curls were coppery, plastered to her skin, water droplets cascading down her sharp cheekbones and onto her bare shoulders.

'Turns out you're the trout after all,' he called to her quietly, trying not to wake Sansa- but then, if Gendry's snoring didn't wake her then surely nothing could.

Cella's eyes widened when she saw him. 'Robb I- oh gods, I've not got-'

'Your smallclothes on?' he suggested, picking up some suspicious linen, 'I know.'

'Stop!' she hissed, blushing but smiling too, 'You are a King!'

'May I join you?' he asked, grinning.

'You must promise not to look,' she conditioned.

'Very well,' he answered solemnly, and then dragged his shirt over his head and his trousers down. Once he was stood in his smallclothes, he looked to Cella, who was treading water and watching him. 'The same applies to you, my lady.'

She didn't seem to catch his drift, so he waved a hand at her until she turned around. He waded in steadily, wincing at the cold water hitting his goose-pimpled skin and making him shiver. He took a deep breath and dived under, resurfacing near Myrcella. True to his word, he didn't look below the misty water.

They trod water opposite each other.

'Are you fond of swimming?' he asked her, smiling lopsidedly.

'Oh, very,' she said, 'The summers get so hot in King's Landing.'

'In the north we just enjoy swimming in the pool in the Godswood,' he laughed, 'It's never very warm.'

Cella smiled, looking down the bank to a tall weeping willow.

'I'll race you to that tree,' she said, raising an eyebrow in challenge. Robb couldn't resist, so they lined up side by side. 'On three: one, two, three!'

They both dived forward, Myrcella's arms propelling strongly through the water and splashing him. Robb slid through the water, preferring to glide at the riverbed than force a path through the surface. After a moment, he opened his eyes, merely to check where he stood in the race… And there she was, an arm's length ahead of him, her lean white limbs luminous in the dark waters, and he tried not to look, really he did, but the graceful motion of her strong arms brought his attention to her torso, and her small, round breasts.

He closed his eyes and kept swimming, and it was only when he crashed into her hand that he surfaced, realising he had reached the finish line- after Cella.

'You're slow, for a trout, aren't you?' she laughed.

'You're coy, for a lioness, aren't you?' he retorted, and then he grabbed her head in his flat palms, loose enough that she could step away if she wanted to, and kissed her.

Neither of them moved, Myrcella not touching Robb apart from her lips, the gentle rubbing of their lips together the only motion. They both tasted wet with river water, cold and dank but neither of them cared. The warmth of their tongues dipping over each other was enough.

Myrcella had closed her eyes, but Robb kept his open, unable to tear his gaze from the still, solemn expression on her pale face. Finally, she hummed: a deep, quiet, sorrowful noise from deep in her chest, and pulled away. She opened her eyes.

It was not their colour that took Robb's breath away, although it was stunning: the glimmer of sunlight reflecting on the water made them shimmering emeralds, rimmed in circles the colour of pondweed; but the look in them was the real stunner. They were hungry, ferocious, omnipotent; the look that her mother always aimed for, though Cersei more often fell at the door of coldness. On top of the anger, a layer of shimmering sadness glazed her irises.

'Robb Stark, I will speak plainly just this once and then I shall keep silent for as long as I may live,' she declared, in a small, solemn voice, 'I love you, and I can no longer deny that there is nothing I want more in this world than to spend the rest of my life with you, but we both have duties. You are a King, and I am content to be your loyal subject, and to love you as my lord and master. You must marry Lady Frey, and I... I do not know how I will bear to see her bear your children, but I must do my duty, and so must you. I can only beg you to forsake me, and to love her as best you can. Your happiness is more important than mine. Finally, you are a Stark, and I am a Lannister, but your mother has offered me your banner, and if I may only love you as a brother, then that is what I shall do. I will not say it is enough, but it is something. I will fight for you for the rest of my life, be it in a courtroom or on a battlefield, I care not. My love for you will outlast the Earth, but it will not be recorded in books or songs or histories. I will bear it silently, and finally I beg that you do too.'

She paused, looked down, put a hand to her cheek as if to rub away a tear. 'You will be the greatest King the North has ever known, and that will be our last kiss.'

And with that she swam away. Robb never heard her leave the river and redress, and he himself did not until he was so cold he thought his fingers might drop off.

The pain in his hands was no match for that in his heart.

**A/N: I am so pissed about this. I wrote the last third on tumblr and then it deleted it ALL so I had to re-write it from memory. The first version was definitely better ugh sorry. And also sorry it took so long, I've been busy. I just can't believe how chirpy the chapter description was, and how sad I feel now.**


	10. Chapter 10

Catelyn announced it at breakfast with her children and Myrcella, Edmure and Roslyn still in bed after the previous night's feast. She didn't make a scene, but she drew their attention in her modest way, and then declared it, leading with a little plea for Robb not to argue.

'I plan to return to Winterfell, to take Sansa home and to see my boys again,' she stated, 'And I also want to take Myrcella with me, if you would like to, my dear?'

Myrcella gaped at Catelyn blankly. She couldn't quite comprehend what was being offered? Yes, she could go north to Winterfell, make herself a home, far from her mother and far from the war. She could probably live in peace there, once she'd adjusted to the climate. But the idea of leaving Robb… Not being able to see him every day and laugh with him and ride with him… The thought was unbearable.

She paused her thoughts, noticing that Catelyn was looking at her expectantly. She forced herself not to glance at Robb, and said softly, 'I shall think upon it.'

…

Robb accosted Myrcella the moment they left the room, dragging her into the adjacent room, which was his suite. He pushed her against the wall and pressed his forehead desperately to hers.

'Don't go, Cella,' he whispered, his chest heaving with silent sobs, 'Please don't leave me!'

She tried to shrug away, making indecisive sounds that not even she was listening to, but Robb slid to his knees, wrapping his arms around her hips and burying his face in the soft fabric over her stomach. He wept violently, the tears soaking through her dress and the touch making her insides shake.

She hesitated a moment before she touched him, but decided that comforting him was sisterly and decent enough- good, even- and so she knotted her fingers in his hair, massaging his scalp gently and stroking like a mother with her babe.

He relaxed a little under her caress, and the crying slowed until his breathing steadied, although he stayed with his face pressed to her for as long as he could. Finally he stood up, slipping her hands into his and holding them tight.

'I'm sorry…' he said sheepishly, but serious still, deathly serious, 'That was childish.'

'Yes,' she said, rather abruptly because she couldn't afford to be nice to him. It was too painful.

Cella stared past Robb's head at the window, ignoring the feel of his eyes on her face. She thought more sensibly about the options open to her.

She could stay, if she wanted to. Catelyn might be disappointed and she would know that Cella was only staying for Robb- a promised man- a deed that could hardly be justified to anyone but Robb. Many people loved an lost every day, and they had no power over it. Maybe Winterfell would be good for her: a change of scenery, a different way of life, maybe a husband if Lady Catelyn could find her a match who didn't think Lannisters breathed fire and ate babies.

'I have to go, Robb,' she said firmly, finally letting him catch her eye. 'I cannot spend my life wishing I was yours when I can never be. I must do something for myself.'

Robb stayed silent for a long moment, and then took her face in his hands. 'You must visit me,' he said, imploring her with his eyes, 'We may still be friends.'

Cella nodded, and then lifted his hands away gently. She smiled sadly at him, and then turned away and left.

…

'Sansa,' Cella announced herself, slipping into Sansa's solar and spying her friend sat by the fire.

'Oh, Cella!' Sansa exclaimed cheerfully, putting her sewing down in her lap, 'Come sit!'

Myrcella came and sat, perching on the soft armchair opposite Sansa and shuffling until her tight dress was comfortable.

'Have you had a good day, Sansa?' she asked, a little apprehensive to divulge her news.

'Good, thank you,' the Stark answered softly, 'Hasn't the weather been lovely?'

'Very,' agreed Cella, 'Have you been out?'

'No,' Sansa said quietly, her eyes drifting to meet Myrcella's, 'I wish I had… It gets a little lonely, being up here all alone all day- I mean, it is an easier life than fighting with my wits at court, but I miss having constant company.'

Myrcella nodded kindly and bit her lip before she finally told Sansa the truth. 'I will come with you to Winterfell.'

Sansa's smile was surprised and slow, but so joyous that Cella had to laugh.

'You shall have my constant companionship from now on, Sansa,' she beamed.

Sansa was up and out of her chair so fast one would never have known she had been unwell.

She wrapped her arms tightly around Myrcella, pressing her Lannister blonde curls into her soft Tully blue dress.

'Thank you,' Sansa whispered, 'I knew you wouldn't desert me, not my new sister.'

**A/N: I'm so sorry that this is so late but in return good news! I finally worked out a good plot twist to get the ending we all want ;) I hope you enjoyed this one, I hope the next chapter will be fairly soon!**


	11. Chapter 11

They laid plans to set off the following week, and their final night was decided to be a feast in honour of the departing Starks (and honorary Stark). Cella arrived with Sansa on her arm, the Stark in frosty blue and the Baratheon in majestic gold and black, family colours on similar, elegantly cut silk dresses.

Their meal was jovial, the Riverlanders sorry to see them go- especially the Blackfish, who simply adored his niece- but eager to give them as good a send-off as they could. They ate venison and pork and other meats Cella could hardly name, never having paid much attention when her septa was talking.

And after dinner came the dancing. Cella danced with some of the soldiers, and then Edmure and finally Brynden, laughing as he whispered funny asides into her ear as they danced, but at last she ended up alone. She briefly chastised herself for checking if Robb was dancing (which he was, with Sansa who only stood a couple of inches shorter than him, laughing as he span her round) and then sat down with Lady Catelyn, sighing with exhaustion.

'Worn out, my dear?' her adoptive mother laughed, sliding a glass of summerwine in front of Cella, from which she drank deeply, savouring the warmth and delicious lightness of it.

'You must get a good night's rest,' Catelyn advised, 'We have a long ride ahead of us on the morrow.'

'Indeed,' agreed Cella, 'Sansa will probably have to ride in front of Robb for a sleep!'

'And Robb shall have trouble staying awake himself,' smiled Cat. Cella hoped he would stay awake, so she could talk to him on the ride: Robb was coming as far as the Twins with them, just a couple of days' ride and then she would have to leave him. Furthermore, he was going to wed Serra Frey whilst they were all there, and then take her back to Riverrun with him. Myrcella kept telling herself it would be a joy to see Robb married, and she had just about given up on wanting him, and she would try her best to be happy for him in the ceremony; but oh, it was hard. Some time in the North would do her good to forget him.

'Oh, look at Dacey!' laughed Catelyn beside her, pointing at the tall and lithe swordswoman, elegant in a dark green dress, spinning a young knight's son, no older than 7 or 8, in her arms like a whirling dervish. Cella couldn't help but laugh at the sight of the boy's feet leaving the ground and flying in circles around Dacey's shins. The song ended, and Cella felt a tap on her shoulder.

'Dance with me?' he asked softly, leaning down to speak directly into her ear.

Cella sighed. 'I suppose I must, ibrother/i.'

She stood up, avoiding his and his mother's eyes, and let Robb take her hand as he led her to the dance floor, his fingers tied loosely with hers, cool and calloused. They reached the floor as a new song began, a slower ballad, and Cella stood as near to Robb as she dared, his arms holding tight to her. They danced silently for a while, Cella trying desperately to act like the princess her mother had taught her to be and not blush or cry, until Robb finally said, 'You look so beautiful tonight.'

'Stop, Robb, please,' she protested, shaking her head slightly, letting a curl fall in her face.

'Our lives are short, Cella,' he said, maintaining the calm, positive face he had been wearing since the feast began, 'The Gods did not place us on this planet to hide our truths and never speak.'

'Please, Robb,' she replied, 'Just let us dance.'

And so they did, in silence, their eyes locked together. Cella relished the feel of his arms on her skin, and the unstoppable pattern of the dance. She wished, deep inside, that it would go on for longer, but told herself, when it was over and Robb released her, that he was not worth her pain. She curtseyed, although that was a court custom and this was a gathering of Northerners, and when she looked up, Robb was looking at her curiously.

'What?' she said, somewhat harshly.

'Please at least treat me like a friend,' he pleaded, taking her hands in his.

Myrcella dropped her head again. 'I'm trying, but my heart won't let me.'

He reached up and tucked a curl behind her ear, feeling the heat coming off her red cheek onto his hand. She met his eyes again, took a sharp breath and walked out of the great hall. Despite Lady Catelyn's warning, she didn't get much sleep.

...

The first day of their ride, Robb rode with Sansa and Cella rode behind, with Gendry, and she didn't speak to the Starks at all- even managing to avoid speaking to Robb at dinner as he sat with his men.

The next morning, she rode beside Gendry again, hardly speaking as she was lost in her own little world of memory. After an hour or so of riding, Gendry coughed to draw her attention.

'Cella?' he said softly, and she looked across at her friend, 'You know this is stupid, right?'

'What?' she replied.

'Trying to... run away,' he said with a sad smile, 'From the King.'

Cella shook her head slightly, 'I'm not running away. I'm going to Winterfell for a new start.'

'Aren't they really the same thing?' he said, and Cella bit her lip, uncomfortable, 'You can't run from your heart, Cella. Trust me.'

'But I can run from him,' she stated softly.

'It's not worth it,' Gendry answered, fervour lighting his heavy, deep voice, 'Honestly, you'll be happier if you just stay by his side, wife or no-'

'Your Grace!' bellowed a man's voice, and Cella finally looked forward to see two horsemen cantering towards their party, 'The Twins are burning! Walder Frey lies dead and his widow set aflame the house whilst all were abed!'

'Boy, slow down and speak carefully!' commanded Robb's voice from up ahead.

'My lord, they are all dead. House Frey is gone.'

**A/N: dun dun DUUUUN sorry for the terrible writing but I think it got better towards the Gendry chat and the twist that I've had up my sleeve for months mwahahahahaaaa. Not many chapters to go now, thanks for reading!**


	12. Chapter 12

The King in the North's party sat in his marquee, in the dumb quietness of shock. There was food laid out on a table, but no one was eating anything. Myrcella felt sick.

Roslin was sat on a chair nearby, bent double as she cried, her husband kneeling before her, pressing his forehead to hers. Sansa looked pale, and leant close to her mother's side, not saying anything.

'Your grace,' the Greatjon was saying, in a voice far louder than any other in the tent, piercing across all other conversations, 'It may not be a bad thing that the Freys are gone. They have always posed a threat to your house, sire.'

'You dare to say that in front of a member of their own house, and mine?' Robb spat back, in a voice that sounded exhausted. Cella pushed back the urge to hold him close.

'I did not mean to offend, my liege,' the big man said, with begrudging submission, 'I only mean to say that perhaps not only bad has come of this accident.'

'It may not be an accident,' said Dacey Mormont, striding through the tent flaps. The King's attention flipped to her. 'I've spoken to the survivors, as you requested, sire, and I think I know the truth.'

'Speak then,' said Robb when she didn't begin. Dacey turned to the entrance and whistled, and boy, no older than ten and four, gaunt and spotty, shuffled in, avoiding eye contact.

The boy stood mute for a few moments, until Dacey nudged him, and nodded at him to speak.

'My master planned it all,' he said, in a meek little voice that somehow stilled all the murmuring in the tent, including Edmure's, as his wife looked up at the speaker. 'He's been planning it for years, and when Lord Walder died he took his chance. He burnt down the house to make him heir, and he was going to escape.'

'But he didn't?' Dacey prompted.

'No, Milady,' he blushed under the tall woman's gaze, 'We was leaving and then my master seemed to remember something. He told me to barricade the doors anyway and said he'd make his own way out… But he didn't.'

'We found Black Walder in a tower with a woman,' one of Robb's lords cut in, 'I didn't recognise her.'

Dacey nodded appreciatively at the squire, and he retreated into a corner.

'Well, he's no great loss,' said the Smalljon, to murmurs of approval from some of the men, 'And neither's the old Lord.'

'I don't expect you to understand this,' Roslin's sweet voice piped up, standing as quickly as she dared, with Edmure hovering close behind her protectively, 'My father was a cruel man, but he was my father nonetheless. Please grant me this one mercy and let me mourn him for his good qualities.'

Everyone looked at her humbly for a moment and then a quiet murmur started up again in the tent. Cella saw her opportunity and moved forward- but not to Robb, or even his sister.

'I understand, Lady Roslin,' she said softly, laying her hand on the lady's bony shoulder. Edmure was engaged in conversation with his sister, and no one's focus was on the sweet surviving Frey.

'My- Princess Myrcella?' Stammered Roslin, biting her lip.

'I know what it is to love someone just because you have to,' Cella said gently, sitting down beside Roslin, 'My mother... she's a cold woman, a cruel woman- but I had to love her, because she was the only mother I had.'

'I... I know my father did awful things,' Roslin replied, 'But he protected me, with his wealth and his men, and he brought Edmure and I together- and I suppose, he did love me on some level... do you understand?'

'But, Roslin...' Myrcella murmured, 'I have found a family now, with Sansa and Lady Catelyn... and Robb; and Edmure will always be there to protect you now, you know.'

'I know...' whispered Roslin, tears glimmering in her eyes.

'Family is not who you are born to, it's who you care for the most,' said Myrcella, and then she stood up, but Roslin caught her arm before she could walk away.

'Myrcella-' she said abruptly- 'Thank you for understanding.'

Myrcella nodded, and went to sit beside Sansa, not saying anything as she sat down.

Lady Catelyn was still talking to Edmure, and after a few minutes Sansa leant in to her ear and whispered, 'Do you love my brother?'

Cella pulled away a little, surprised that the other girl knew: but then, Catelyn knew, and Gendry knew- and she probably was that obvious. Whenever she wasn't staring at him, he was staring at her, and they spend far too much time together to pretend they weren't close.

She sighed: it wouldn't hurt Sansa to know the truth. 'Yes.'

Sansa paused, and then placed her hand on top of Cella's on the table. Their eyes met. 'You should marry him then.'

'I- what?'

'Life is short and hard, Myrcella,' Sansa stated, with the wise, kindly voice of her mother, 'Seize happiness when you can.'

**A/N: sorry it's so late and short, but I'm kind of filling a gap before we reach the final couple of chapters. Hope you're still enjoying! And I'm glad I've managed to shoe-horn Dacey Mormont in again, she's wonderful ok. Adieu!**


	13. Chapter 13

Strong, broad fingers wrapped around her wrist, spinning her around. She glanced ahead, checking that Lady Catelyn and Sansa had left the marquee, and then looked at Robb.

'Cella,' he said, the broadest smile on his face, and moved his hands to her waist and her face, pulling her into his body and pressing his lips to hers. He tasted of cinnamon, and was as hot and delicious as the images the spice put into her head: hot city days when she and Tommen had splashed in the marble fountain in the Red Keep; cosy, cool, windy days when she had sat by the fire with her Septa and had books filtered through to her untamed mind. The incense sticks they lit when her father died.

She pulled away quickly, murmuring, 'No, Robb, no.'

'Cella, why?' he protested, still smiling confusedly, 'She's dead, we can be together now!'

Cella shook her head. 'Marrying the bastard Lannister princess mere days after your Lady Frey betrothed dies is not behaviour for a King in the North.'

Robb paused, and sighed, 'Fuck,' he muttered, his face close to hers, 'I would never disrespect you, Cella. I would never bring shame upon you.'

'I don't care for my reputation, Robb, it was shattered years ago,' she sighed, 'I only care that your people have a good king.'

He glanced towards the tent flaps and then back at her, hunger in his eyes, 'Then fuck them all, Cella, I'll take you now.'

'Robb, we can't marry-'

'I wasn't suggesting marriage,' he cut in, and kissed her so hard and hot that she forgot all her protestations, her mind filled with nothing but Robb, Robb, oh, Robb. His hands ran all over her body and her fingers tugged at his shirt, but he stopped her. Cella met his eyes, aghast, but then he kissed her again, soft and warm and terribly short.

'Five minutes,' he panted, 'My tent.'

Cella could only stare at him.

'That is, only if you're sure?' he murmured, stroking her waist a little too forcefully.

She could only nod, and Robb simply straightened his shirt and stalked out.

She caught her breath for a moment, and then sat down on the ground, curling her knees up to her chest and pressing her head to them. She had meant what she said, her honour meant nothing to her now and she wanted him, oh god she wanted him, no matter what she had to do to get him. And thankfully that didn't seem to be too much.

A minute longer and she almost ran out of the tent, glancing around slyly before slipping in. Robb was stood beside the bed, his shirt unbuttoned and his face fixed on hers before her eyes had even adjusted to the dark enough to spot him.

'Robb,' she breathed, and fastened the tent flap quickly before practically running up to him and kissing him, hard. His hands frantically ran up and down her back, trying to unfasten her dress. Her top layer fell to the ground and he began to fiddle with her corset. She laughed against his lips and turned around.

His lips caressed her neck as he unhooked her corset, but eventually it was off, and Robb paused only to strip down to his smallclothes before pushing her backwards onto the bed. She gasped, a little high-pitched 'oh' pushing from her chest, and Robb laughed good-naturedly above her, kneeling over her and dipping down to kiss her.

'Robb, I-' she breathed, and he paused to look at her, panting heavily.

'What?' He breathed.

'Do it, do it,' she whispered, clasping her arms around his neck and pulling his lips to hers again.

'Why are princesses so demanding?' He said, and she laughed lightly as his lips fell to her neck, sucking and biting, and his hand slid down to take off their smallclothes, stroking her once in a sweet spot before guiding himself to her. He paused for a moment, looking into her bliss-hazy eyes before he moved into her. She gasped with a high-pitched squeak, and then covered her mouth with Robb's to muffle the sound. There were probably people outside; and she wanted no one to know that she was here- for the sake of Robb's honour, she told herself, but really she just wanted this moment to last forever. And then he pushed in harder, and her eyes rolled back in her head and she wasn't thinking about anyone else anymore, just Robb, Robb, Robb!

His hand caressed her breast, playing delicately but getting rougher as she could feel them both losing control, and then his fingers slipped down to the point where they were joined, stroking and rubbing until- she gasped his name and he whispered, 'Cella, Cella, Cella,' dropping his head onto her chest and trailing lazy kisses from her collarbone to her breast.

They laid like that for a while, catching their breath and trying not to think, and then the terrible thought that had pierced Myrcella's brain seemed to go for Robb's as well. He moved suddenly, taking her by surprise as he rolled onto his side, clutching her against him, face almost touching face on the pillows. The sweat cooled off on their bodies, and he lifted the furs to cover them, laying back down with his nose touching hers.

She wondered if he would say it, the simple fact that was tearing her heart apart, and she had half a mind to say it herself but she had promised herself she didn't need him, and deep inside she had a terrible fear that he wasn't thinking the same thing; that he had loved her only physically and was ready to throw her away the moment he left her.

But then he spoke, and her fears were quelled, 'I love you, Cella.'

She scrunched her eyes shut, curling into his chest and trying to savour the feeling of being loved and cradled and kept warm.

_How am I supposed to live now?_ she thought, _knowing that this can never be mine again?_

It would be hard- no, impossible- to live with the memory of his touch still lingering on her skin. She could never marry because any man who wanted her would not be Robb, and she never wanted anyone but Robb to ever touch her again.

She couldn't say she loved him back. She had learnt long ago not to put her heart anywhere where it could be broken.

He held her close for a little while, and then sighed. He stood and left without a word. Cella lay and cried.

It was there that Sansa found her, hours later, sitting down and cradling Cella quietly.

'Will you still come to Winterfell?' Sansa asked, once Cella was able to speak again.

'I think I must, Sansa,' she replied.

They left the next day.

**A/N: I'm so sorry this took me so long! I've been away in France and I've got a lot of work but I needed to carry on! Well, good things come to those who wait! Sort of...**


	14. Chapter 14

'Cella, may I come in?' asked Sansa sweetly, and Cella put down her book, turning to the peeping red head at her door.

'Of course,' she acquiesced, standing to pull up another chair by the fire for her adoptive sister. Her solar was a cold room, one of the coldest in Winterfell, but Cella refused to move to a warmer one, because this room had a view out over the main courtyard. She liked the hustle and bustle of the traders and soldiers below: it reminded her of home, King's Landing and its myriad inhabitants and visitors.

'Lovely day,' her guest said sweetly.

Cella could only hum an agreement, as she hadn't been outside to enjoy the frosty sunshine. She sniffed quietly, hoping the rosewater had covered the smell well enough that Sansa wouldn't notice it.  
There was a long silence, which Cella felt guilty about: she hated herself for being so rude to Sansa, who had been nothing but good to her since they arrived in Winterfell.

'Are you quite alright, Cella?' Sansa probed gently, stretching across the gap between them and placing her hand on Cella's. 'No one has seen you all day- you haven't even come down for meals.'

Cella coughed to clear the nervous lump in her throat.

'I'm fine, Sansa, really,' she assured her, in an utterly un-assuring voice.

'You're not, Cella, I know you,' sighed Sansa, 'You used to ride nearly every day, and come for walks and laugh with the men- and now…'

'Has anyone else noticed?' Cella asked almost frantically, with the sudden realisation that hiding herself wasn't as subtle as she had hoped.

'Well, Ned Karstark has asked me about you,' she replied aloofly. Lady Catelyn had been trying to set Cella up with the young nobleman for months, and Cella thought he was kind and good fun- but love wasn't really the first thing on her mind.

'But your lady mother- she's not worried is she?'

Sansa looked at her friend suspiciously, 'You know she's worried, as much as I.'

Suddenly Myrcella convulsed, bending double and clutching her stomach through her loose gown.

'Cella- oh gods, are you-' Sansa was kneeling at her side instantly.

'I… I'm fine,' Cella panted, but she couldn't stop herself from letting out a deep groan. 'It can't be,' she muttered to herself, 'It's only been five…'

'Cella,' Sansa gasped in a hollow voice, 'Are you… Did he…?'

Cella was crying, thick, hot tears drawing lines down her face, and she never cried. Never. Sansa grabbed her face between the palms of her hands, dragging Cella's head to face hers.

'Tell me the truth, Cella,' she said, in a growling voice much more forceful than Sansa's usual, light tone, 'Are you… With child?'

Cella's raised her eyes, red with tears, and simply nodded.

…

Robb tossed in the bed, sticky hot sheets clinging to his naked flesh. It was too hot in the south, especially on stuffy summer nights like this. He longed for winter and the north, the cosiness of Winterfell's steaming walls and the biting air outside.

It would not be long now until he went home. The war in the south had calmed and the reports from the north- from his brother, Lord Commander Snow- were dire; so he was heading north with his men to protect his homeland.

He would be lying if he said he didn't miss Cella, but he was pleased that most of the time he was able to miss her company, her laughter and her brutal riding. She had promised to stop loving him so he was trying to stop loving her- and most of the time he was doing well. It was only in the quiet of sleep, alone in his tent, that he longed for the touch of her, the gentle panting, the pressure of her mouth against his. The phantom of her kiss had never really left him, and in the wee hours it was agony.

But going back to Winterfell would be difficult too: she would refuse to marry him, and perhaps it would be harder to have to forget her whilst she was in reach than it had been from so far away. If she ever married another- his hands clenched just to think about it.

But he had to respect her wishes. She was a strong woman, and she knew her own mind, and he would have to trust her in that.

On the other hand, Sansa and his mother were at Winterfell, and he missed them. His young bones ached for rest and home, and he couldn't fully push away the boyish instinct to stay close to his mother. Yes, he would be happier at home, and damn the Lannister princess if she was going to ruin that.

They arrived six months after his mother had left, riding into the courtyard with some small circumstance, to see Lady Stark and Sansa stood before them, with the few bannermen who remained to hold the castle around them.

He dismounted and walked over to them, trying to muffle the hurt and confusion in his chest at Cella's absence. He wrapped his arms tightly around his mother, feeling like a little boy again even though he stood taller than her now and could bury his face in her Tully red hair.

'Welcome home, son,' Catelyn murmured in his ear, and when he pulled away he thought he could see the glimmer of tears in her eyes.

He turned to Sansa, who smiled weakly at him and then embraced him forcefully, burying her head in his chest. He cradled her in return, feeling some pride at being the last remaining Starks, despite the horror of his siblings' deaths. They were Starks, and they would endure, and they would exact revenge.

As he moved back, Sansa whispered, 'She didn't write to you, did she?'  
Robb frowned. His thoughts instinctively went to Myrcella but he didn't want to bring her up if he was wrong. Sansa grimaced.

'What's happened?' he asked, a little louder than perhaps appropriate.

His mother shuffled nervously and pulled him inside, taking him into the hall and sitting him down on his throne at the front.

His men filed in and a meal was served, and it was only when Lady Cat was pulled away to talk to Maege Mormont that Robb could lean across her place and ask the question that had been tearing him apart since he arrived.

'Where is she?' he hissed at Sansa.

She bit her lip. 'She doesn't come down for meals any longer.'

Robb spooned more food onto his plate and lifted it. 'Fine, I'll take this to her, where is she?'

Sansa looked nervous. She glanced over at her mother but Cat wasn't looking their way.

'If I were in her position, I would not want to see you.'

'Then at least give me a chance to apologise,' he begged, swallowing hard. What could have happened? Did Sansa know about their affair? Was she ashamed of him for breaking his honour?

'I'll show you after dinner,' she answered stiffly, and he read the subtext of _make this right or I'll take your crown and your manhood._

And then their mother returned, and he spent the rest of the evening making polite chatter with his bannermen whilst his head ran over a thousand things.

After dinner, his mother invited him to play cards with her and a few of the lords, but he declined, claiming fatigue. She kissed him goodnight and left, and as soon as she was out of sight, Robb rose, grabbing his sister's hand and leading her out of the great hall. Once outside, they swapped, and Sansa led her brother into the coldest, gloomiest part of the castle, right above the courtyard where the smell of sweat and horse dung wafted up like a ghoul.

'Why did you give her these rooms?' he asked, outraged. Cella should have the warmest, loveliest rooms in the castle, the ones looking out to the sunset and the godswood. His… A Princess deserved better.

Sansa rapped her knuckles lightly on the door. 'Can I come in?'

There was a cough, and then a feeble 'yes' from inside, and Sansa opened the door, letting herself in but keeping Robb behind her, out of sight.

'Cella, he's back,' she sighed.

'I know,' Cella replied, in that intelligent, crisp voice of hers. Robb resisted the urge to shove past his sister now, trusting Sansa to introduce him carefully.

'Do you want to see him?' Sansa asked.

'I…' Cella's voice trailed off, 'Yes.'

Sansa lowered her head and then looked at her brother carefully.

'One moment,' she said, and pulled the door shut. And then she told him what had happened.

…

Cella waited nervously in her chair by the fire. What if he didn't want to see her? What if he didn't like her like this, pale and feeble and the opposite of her past self? He was bound to be disappointed when he found out what had happened, and she prayed to the old gods and the new (but particularly the old, who had seemed her only companions since she came here) that someone else would tell him, because she didn't think she could say it out loud.

(And they could never be together, so perhaps seeing each other would only bring pain.)

The door opened, and she didn't look up. She heard it clack shut again, and the light tread of tentative footsteps across the creaky wooden floor, and yet, as much as she longed to look at him, she was too scared.

'Cella,' he murmured, his hand lightly dropping onto her hair. She leant back, reclining into his chest as though they hadn't spent a day apart.

Still without looking up, she said, 'Robb.'

'You should have told me,' he said, and Cella bit her lip. Clearly Sansa had told him. At least she hoped it had been Sansa, because anyone else wouldn't have been as forgiving. She wondered if he had defended her, said he didn't care about her honour and that he would stand by her whatever. She wondered if he had said anything at all.

'I didn't know until we had already come here,' she explained.

'You should have sent me a letter or _something!_' he replied, sliding his hands down her back to cradle her tightly.

'And made you abandon your war?' she argued, finally releasing him and tugging away to look at his face. 'I'm not your wife, and I'm not worth losing your war.'

He looked tired. Pale and tired.

'You are worth everything,' he said.

'You have a kingdom to rule, and I can't even look after an unborn child!' she exclaimed. She hadn't realised how angry she was until now, hating herself on behalf of her lost child, hating herself for losing a child when her mother had borne three.

'Cella-' he said forcefully, grabbing her face between his hands and dropping to his knees to meet her eyes better. '-I do not believe that. The child was my doing in the first place and I care a lot more for you than a child I have never known. You are beautiful and kind and strong and all I can say is… That if anything had happened to you, I would have died at your side. I… Do not blame yourself.'

Cella looked at him with wet eyes. 'I… I'm ashamed, Robb,' she murmured, 'I'm ashamed, because after I was out of danger… I was glad that it was gone.'

'Cella, it's not your fault…'

'No, Robb, I didn't want it. Am I an unnatural woman? Doesn't every woman want to be a mother?' She swallowed, wanting to stop but the words kept flooding out, 'But I kept thinking… It was just a reminder. A reminder of you, which hurt enough, but also something to make your mother hate me. That child would not have had a happy upbringing.'

'Shush, my darling,' he said, pressing his forehead to hers, 'You're right, our child shouldn't have been a bastard.'

Cella racked a sob in through her mouth.

'None of our children will ever be bastards,' he said more strongly, 'Marry me.'

'What?' She breathed, pulling away and meeting his eyes.

'Cella, we've been through enough. These last months were agony for us both, and I want to be with you forever,' he said.

'But what if I cannot bear children…?' she whispered.

'I don't want children,' he said, 'I want you.'

Cella looked at him and he swore he saw a slight smile grow on her face.

'Yes, I'm always yours.'

He wrapped his arms around her tightly, lifting her to her feet with the force of his embrace. His face nuzzled into her hair. 'I love you,' he whispered.

**A/N: AT LAST! I'm sorry it took a while coming, but this is longer than normal! And I wasn't kidding, this was the last chapter, I'll just do an epilogue to complete this fic! **


	15. Epilogue

**The Epilogue**

**A/N: So, I'm finally done. I apologise for the deteriorating writing style in this chapter, but there we go. I felt like there were a few loose ends to be tied up, and they're done now. Thank you all for reading and commenting and liking and reviewing and everything you've done to keep this story afloat. Adieu!**

The girl scurried along side roads as she always had, through forests and boggy wastes, all the way from mild Maidenpool until the paths grew snowy and the nights were too cold for her to sleep outside. Thankfully she had only had to take a room in an inn one night before the wolf came back to her, fierce and warm and… so strong.

She couldn't really pass as a boy any longer, she had eventually inherited her mother's beauty, but her hair was still short and she still dressed in trousers and a tunic, for ease and comfort if nothing else.

She didn't need to kill any guards, thankfully, as there were none in sight, so she crept silently through the gate and into the abandoned courtyard, the first strains of grey light showing her the improvements her brother had made since the north's greatest stronghold had burnt down. It wasn't the same as the castle she remembered, but it was still beautiful, still strong and imposing yet also a loyal hand for its friends.

She went straight for her mother's room, but found it empty. Had she moved quarters or…? She couldn't bear to think of where her mother might be if she wasn't at Winterfell.

Eventually she just went back to her old room. It wasn't the same: the old furnishings had probably burnt with the castle, but it felt something like home anyway, and so she curled up at Nymeria's side to sleep.

…

The maid screamed when she caught side of a slender girl wrapped in a live wolf. She had only come in to fetch some logs for the fire next door- the wood outside would be too damp to take light.

It was she who brought Lady Cat, and, far from the horrified reaction the maid had expected, Lady Cat sobbed with joy when she saw the girl.

'Arya!' she sobbed, and the girl finally looked up. She was older, certainly, facially more like her mother, and quite beautiful, though in a different way to-

'Arya!' -her sister, Sansa, who ran in at her mother's cry, holding none of her mother's inhibitions about the wolf and going straight in to embrace her little sister.

Cat joined in then, and the maid slipped away to give them some time alone.

'I came home,' she heard as she walked away.

...

Robb did not see her until she was washed and dressed- he had been asleep when she arrived and had only found out when he went to breakfast and found his mother and sister missing. The servants, in their panic at finding the supposedly-lost younger Stark alive and well in the castle, had completely missed telling their King, and so it was Sansa, running down to fetch some bread for them, who told him of Arya's arrival.

His sister had changed so much he hardly knew her, but for the direwolf curled around her legs like a skirt.

He crept towards her gently, partly wanting to throw his arms around his littlest sister yet afraid of the blazing look in her eyes. She wasn't the same little sister he remembered- and she had always been closer to Jon anyway.

'Arya?' he murmured.

She lit up half a smile. 'I heard someone made you a king,' she replied, standing and wrapping her arms around him as he had been scared to do. When she released him, Arya's eyes focussed a little way behind her brother, towards the doorway, and he turned to see what had caught her attention. It was his wife.

But no, it wasn't Cella, though she was the main figure in the doorway, resplendent in her magenta gown, reaching tight over her swollen belly, with her golden hair braided neatly down her back. She moved to Robb's side, taking his hand in hers, and Robb finally saw who Arya had been looking at.

'Gendry,' she said, a half-smile drawing on her face.

The young blacksmith, who normally would find the most secluded corner of any room and hide there to avoid being the centre of attention, was for once in the spotlight. His face was dumbstruck, jaw dropped and eyes wide, and his broad body was limp, like a puppet hanging from strings.

The whole room was in silence for a moment as the two old friends' eyes met, locking together with magnetic force.

Robb shared a look with his wife, who was smiling lightly, as though she had always known this would happen.

Finally, Gendry spoke. 'Where've you been?' he asked breathlessly, but it clearly didn't matter, not in that moment, as he walked the gap between them in two strides and threw his arms around her, lifting her feet slightly off the floor- she was still short, though she had grown much since Robb had last seen her- with the force of his embrace.

Lady Catelyn looked shocked, but Sansa gently took her arm and led her mother out, followed by Robb and Cella, who shut the door behind them to give the pair some… time to catch up.

…

Myrcella was feeling weary already, the weight of the baby heavying her shoulders, so Robb took her to their solar and sat with her on a long chair, his legs spread around her, bearing her weight against his chest.

'You must be glad to see your sister back,' she said softly.

Robb nuzzled his face into Cella's soft golden hair, thinking.

'It's a relief,' he breathed, 'Do you miss your brothers?'

'Not Joff,' she sighed, half a laugh, 'But I do miss Tommen. He was always a sweetling.'

'I still mourn for my father, and for Bran and Rickon,' he said, 'But we are almost a family now. We've rebuilt our pack.'

'Our pride,' she said, meaning a pride of lions and smiling at her own pun.

Robb just made a contented noise and cuddled her closer, feeling their child kick against his hands.

As he had said, they were almost a family. They had fought, and they had won, and finally they could be at peace.


End file.
